Visions of a Winter Scene
by Blackfire 18
Summary: [Chapter 3 up] It's Buddy's turn to delve into his past and give confidence to one special platinum blonde. Memories abound of the times when he and Mirage had first met as well as a look into Buddy's horrific childhood.
1. Default Chapter

**Visions of a Winter Scene**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Incredibles or any of the characters there within.**

One December found Nomanisan Island to be a place of a not so white Christmas. The tropical climate allowed for no white merriment in this part of the world. It appeared that the only thing to be affected was the temperature—from a usual ninety degree forecast to a whopping sixty-eight degrees outside. The day was somewhat grey; the sun's great face marred by so many clouds. Only a few warm rays of sunshine penetrated the gloom.

All of the outside world went unnoticed within the confined expense of one carefully maintained office.

Amid the silence of towering papers stacked high and a single tablet to log reports sat a long-haired blonde, deep in concentration. One hand was placed on her chin to support an elegant face with that silky white-blonde hair tumbling down to one side as the rest cascaded down her back. Her lithe legs were crossed comfortably at the ankle beneath her, as she leaned slightly forward over her work; her other hand scrawled down information quickly and without tire. Her brilliant emerald eyes sternly assessed several of the papers as she continued to compound information into the little computerized notebook.

Nothing else in the world seemed to exist as she worked—focused only on the materials before her. Seconds, minutes, hours may have passed without her notice.

She paused for a moment to tuck a few unruly strands of hair behind an ear and poised her hand once again over the report when the phone rang.

Not missing a beat, she quickly saved all of the information to be downloaded into the large database later and nimbly snatched up the phone with her free hand. Her eyes caught the number of who was calling and she relaxed, though only slightly.

"This is Mirage. How may I be of service?"

Her voice tumbled beautifully over the phone and her savory salutation was met with amused laughter.

"Relax Mirage, you know it's me and I know that you are fulfilling your role as Miss Workaholic. Why don't you take he break?" he sighed in mock exasperation.

Mirage smiled softly to herself as she released the pen she had been holding; only realizing now that her hand had cramped somewhere in the duration of the repot. She turned her swivel chair on its axis easily and moved to stand, distractedly flexing her sore hand.

"There is still work to be done." She complemented quietly, unable to keep a small touch of fatigue from her voice. There was a soft sigh over the phone as his voice lowered to soft remorse.

"I've been working you too hard…" there was a pause over the line. His voice returned with a renewed strengthened. "Listen. Drop whatever it is you've been doing and meet me in my office," his voice hinted at a thrilled excitement, "I have a surprise for you!"

Mirage's eyes widened slightly, even as the ring tone gave that long drone that she was the only one left on the line. She replaced the phone slowly, standing still for a moment.

A surprise for her? What could this mean?

Mirage gathered up her report and pen, leaving the many papers, still unfinished, behind. The report, on the other hand, she took everywhere; she had come to feel incomplete without it.

Leaving her office, Mirage was assailed with noise as several soldiers shoved past her on their way to the outside. She could feel an air of exhilaration running through the throng. The men jostled by her in their hurry and only a few polite ones mumbled an apology. Mirage shook off the impolite shoves and made her way to the elevator.

Once inside, she hesitantly pressed the button to the top floor; one rarely used as it obviously protruded out farther than the rest of the buttons.

"Ms. Mirage! Have you seen it?" One soldier hailed her. When her look of confusion halted him in his pass, he skidded to a stop.

He clapped one hand over his mouth, grinning moronically at a near slip up.

"Oh, never mind," he stuttered as the elevator doors closed. "Enjoy the ride up!"

Mirage had half a mind to reopen the elevator doors and interrogate the soldier, but the elevator was already two floors up from her office and the soldier would probably be long gone.

The elevator gave a slow ascent, giving Mirage the time to reflect on the present, but her mind wandered instead to the past. Something of a distant memory recollected steadily in her mind; snow. Snow falling in sheets from the sky—each flake a little angel that fell gracefully from the heavens; the one time of the year that the world was blessed with an angelic presence. Mirage found she missed those winter evenings with her family; whether they were out building forts in the snow or inside warming themselves by the fire. The season had always brought her family together.

She sighed, unconsciously biting her lower lip as she recalled one story she had related to Syndrome.

He had had a trip to take to the mainland to retrieve his super suit from the illustrious Enda Mode; designer of the greatest super suits around. No one seemed to match her divinely profound capabilities. Syndrome had wanted an escort to the mainland and the first person he came to was her. Mirage agreed to the trip, a well needed break from her duties was surely in order.

Mirage remembered the lovely, if not massive estate of Ms. Mode and how the entire area was enveloped with a brilliant white. Even through the grey clouds that hovered constantly overhead, the manor was beautiful. While she and Syndrome waited for the anticipated suit within the confines of the mansion, Mirage stood in the wake of an overly large window, gazing out into the world of white. Syndrome came to stand silently beside her with only a soft greeting. She nodded her head to him in acknowledgment, but did not stray her eyes from the white. He took her silence well, she mused thoughtfully; thankful that he would allow her time to appreciate the weather she had been denied on the island.

Mirage suddenly felt prompted to reveal a precious story to him; where the feeling had come from she did not know, only that she was compelled to speak of it. She opened her mouth to express the pressing interest and Syndrome gave her his full attention.

"My father and I used to spend the early evenings on walks through the snow. When I was little he used to carry me on his shoulders and make airplane noises while I would pretend to shoot down enemy planes," Mirage laughed easily to herself, not quite seeing the knowing grin on Syndrome's face. "When I was older and too big to ride on my father's shoulders; we would just walk together and get into the occasional snowball fight. I once hit him on the back of the head with a snowball and he and his hat went tumbling to the ground. I was afraid that I had hurt him and I rushed to his side to see if he was all right. The moment I reached him he tackled me to the ground and tickled me until I was breathless. I never forgot that day…"

Her smile fell away as her eyes glazed over. "And then my father passed away; crushed in a building that had collapsed during an attack of the city's worst foe. The Super had torn out the main beam that kept the structure standing and it…it just came down. The Super was successful in his conquering of the criminal, but while everyone cheered his triumph, my father lay somewhere bent and broken among the rubble. I never received even so much as an apology." Mirage shut her eyes to control her emotions and keep her composure in check before she continued. "…I would still take my walks in the snow, every winter, except I would walk alone. I came to accept the solitude; came to appreciate the cold; came to affiliate the snow with the best and worst of my memories. But that is all in the past," she tore her eyes finally away from the white outside to smile sadly at the intently listening Syndrome, "and there is nothing to change it."

Syndrome seemed too overwhelmed to speak; this trust of such a personal story touched him she saw. She suddenly felt terribly self-conscious, as though she had exposed too much of herself. Syndrome came forward and he opened his mouth to speak to the distraught blonde when an attendant of Ms. Mode came forward with his super suit finished at last. The moment ruined and Mirage suavely smiling away her cares and woes, the two of them boarded the plane back to Nomanisan.

She still loved the snow, but she had pushed it from her mind. A tropical island did not allow for her longed after walks of solitude in the blissful silence. The birds were always twittering and the insects were always buzzing—the island full of life. A white Christmas was simply implausible; simply too much to ask for.

Mirage was shaken from her reverie by a startling _ting_ that signaled the elevator had reached its final destination; the doors hissed open softly for her. She stepped from the doors as they closed behind her and the only way the elevator could go was down.

Pushing through the two elegantly carved doors, Mirage gazed around the room in surprise. The sheer expanse of it always took her breath away. However, all of the shades were drawn closed and the room was dark save for a few soft lights scattered here and there.

Mirage took a few measured steps forward before she was hailed to stop.

Her green eyes searched for the source to find a smartly dressed Syndrome—no—Buddy Pine in evening attire. The mask he usually donned was absent and somehow he looked to have more boyish charm than usual.

He smiled warmly at her, approaching the blonde tentatively as if he were about to ask the most beautiful girl at school to prom.

"Hello, Mirage."

The white-blonde was unsure of how to react, so she just stood there numbly as he approached. When he was a mere arms breadth from her, his eyes surveyed her quickly. She gazed back in subtle confusion, still unawares of why he had called her here. Buddy shook his head as though brushing off the effects of a lingering dream.

"Oh, right, my surprise for you."

He whipped out a remote from somewhere in the depths of his fine clothes and the minute grinding of gears drew back all of the shades in one sweep. The room was filled with light from the brightness outside; an unusual brightness. Mirage could not help the drop of her jaw at the brilliance of it all.

Snow!

Snow on the rafters, on the mountainside, on the trees, on the plants—snow falling all around them.

Mirage walked unsteadily to the windows, any sudden movement might wake her from this dream. Buddy followed inconspicuously behind. She placed her hand on its glassy surface. It was cold to the touch.

The island had been transformed. Everything had a fresh powder of white—so new, untouched, beautiful. Every detail, every image she committed to her memory. It was simply breathtaking.

Buddy now stood beside her.

"It's for you, all of it."

Mirage sighed in amazement before she turned her gaze to Buddy.

"…How?"

He shrugged innocently as though this was nothing compared to some of his other more difficult inventions.

"Just a little weather device. It pulls down cold air from the atmosphere and concentrates that air into a very cold precipitation and voila! You have snow!"

Mirage smiled warmly at him, on the borderline of deep admiration.

"It's my gift to you. All I ask in return is one…small thing…"

She looked over at him questioningly, but his eyes were looking up. In curiosity, she followed his devious gaze to a small plant of green and red.

A cheery little mistletoe hung over their heads.

They glanced back at each other at the same time. He smiled sheepishly, but not with regret. He had planned this all along. She smiled at him warmly.

"Thank you," she murmured, drawing closer to him and going up on tip-toe. She shut her eyes and gave him a feather-light brush of her lips against his. When she pulled away, Buddy's face was as red as the berries of the mistletoe overhead. Mirage chortled softly behind one hand—even the great mastermind of invention could be as shy as a lamb.

The bravery of the moment seemed to be shocked out of Buddy and he suddenly turned away in stark embarrassment and perhaps even a touch of fear. He took a few steps forward and Mirage could see his shoulders betray a small tremble. She followed him softly, placing an elegant hand on his shoulder. His eyes turned to meet hers, soft brown meeting emerald. He was ashamed of his sudden embarrassment, she knew, but something else in his eyes prompted her to study further. He looked at her with the tortured failure of a child's life gone awry, to twist and gnarl him into ruin as a man. He had been hurt deeply.

The thought tore at Mirage. She came to stand before him, her eyes never leaving his, moving again to tip-toe.

Their lips met for a second time, away from the safety of the innocent dash of holly, venturing in tentative steps, why a kiss is so sought after. Their relationship of title and status shattered in those lingering moments and deepened just as the kiss deepened. A new level of trust, of emotion, of power had been formed.

When they parted, short of breath and panting slightly, Syndrome smiled at her tenderly and she could do naught but return it. There was a short pause in which neither of them spoke. Buddy was the first to come out of the dazed ambience.

"Ah, I am not positive how long the snow will last;" he moved to stand before one great window, "doubtless that the volcano is melting the mountainside as we speak. You had better get outside before it all disappears." He smiled knowingly over at her from the window side. "I know how much you enjoy those solitary walks in the snow."

He seemed to collapse into himself emotionally and said no more. Mirage stepped toward him, taking his hand in hers.

"I wouldn't mind the company." She squeezed his hand briefly for emphasis and he brightened at the sentiment.

"All right," he agreed, his voice taking on a sort of boyish semblance and he took the lead for the both of them. "I've been wanting to throw a few snowballs at the airmen since the layer of snow has been thick enough. Let's go!"

They entered the elevator together and rode it down to their world of white.

* * *

**A/N: AHH! This story is so horribly late I wouldn't be surprised it people came at me with candied hearts and chocolate roses and beat me over the head with them! In truth, I had a nasty sort of writer's block in one place (Mirage narrating her snow story to Syndrome…) I had to give a feeling of why Mirage loved the snow as well as a reason behind why she might have felt inclined to aid in Syndrome's plan to dispose of all Supers (and also how to go about the entire mistletoe scene without going too over the top)—so an idea finally came to me and I finally came back to finish this piece (which I actually started December 13th). I am SO sorry that this is so late and I hope that everyone read this and liked it anyway! **

**I hope that this story had a more original sense to it—nothing that is too predictable because those bore me to death and I would hate to do that to my readers. I wanted to have some traditional mixed with something new and I hope that came across well with everyone!**

**I also sincerely hope that the flavor of this fic isn't ruined because some of you folks might still have some snow. I myself, on the other hand, live on an island and can sympathize with a no snow holiday. Oh well, I survived it.**

**So a late Merry Christmas (among all those other holidays!) and Happy New Year to you all! **

**Please review!**

**Blackfire 18**


	2. Whatever you Believe Little Anya

**Visions of a Winter Scene**

**Chapter II: "Whatever you Believe…little Anya"**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Incredibles or any of the characters there within. (owned by Pixar/Disney…)**

February had rolled around in all of its white splendor, Mirage noted from one of the frigid window-panes of the Manta-jet. The sun had begun to set and the soft, mechanical precision of gears moved the dark sun-glass away from the large expanse of the frontal view port. Mirage rotated her swivel chair to see the vast mainland stretch before her. She leaned casually on her hand, elbow resting on the leather arm of the large chair in which she sat, one leg crossed comfortably over the other.

Winter was an awesome season. Its power over nature was vast—enough to chill the land and freeze the water that fell from the sky. It was a time when the planet was farthest from the warm reassurance of the sun. It was a time for people to take up heavy coats and gloves and scarves to shield themselves from the chill. It was a time to spend more time indoors with a fire on the hearth and mugs of hot chocolate shared among loved ones…

Mirage sighed, turning away from the glass, trying to waylay an array of emotion that shook her resolve. She was saved the effort by a voice that came from her right. She glanced up to see Syndrome, a boyish grin on his face and something hidden behind his back.

"I have something for you," he said softly, just able to contain his excitement as he presented her with a beautiful white fur coat. Mirage inhaled sharply at the sight of it.

"It's lovely." She answered in awe as she rose from her reclined seat. Syndrome, no Buddy, smiled and motioned for her to try it on and she complied. The satin of the inside layer sliding over her skin gave her chills, as the fine, silky fur brushed the back of her neck. The coat was light in weight, but it warmed its full length to her mid-thigh. She realized, suddenly, that this coat was fitted to her measurements precisely and how Buddy had done this she was unsure, but she was in wonder all the same.

"Let's have a look at you!" Buddy said and Mirage turned, unable to conceal a smile of delight. Buddy looked her up and down, giving a great smile of approval throughout. "Perfect."

Mirage could feel the blush that marred her cheeks and she drew her gaze down to recollect herself. Buddy laughed, "It is kind of silly, you won't be needing such a heavy coat on Nomanisan, but it should last you out the weekend for our stay on the mainland. What do you think?"

"I think it's beautiful." Mirage said as she moved to embrace him. "Thank you." She murmured from his chest, the heat of the coat doubling with the added warmth of his arms around her.

"Of course," he replied, "I'm just happy you came."

"How could I not?" Mirage asked, breaking the embrace to look into his baby blue eyes.

"You're right, there's no telling what kind of trouble I can get myself into." Buddy plopped himself into the seat adjacent her and ran his hands through the fiery red hair that had somehow miraculously cooperated with the comb to lay flat on his head. He had it tied back in a ponytail as an added measure lest it decided to act up on him. He exhaled a sigh, "If we're lucky, we should be in and out and I can finally finish this experiment once and for all."

"Remind me of this friend of yours?" Mirage prompted him with a raised eyebrow. Buddy waved a hand of unimportance.

"Just an old college buddy of mine. We both loved our tech."

"And you went your separate ways because…"

"Different fields of interest," he shrugged, "but this particular device he should know how to repair." He fiddled with the little seeker robot that attached to his wrist cuff on his supersuit as he spoke. "We sort of invented this one together and I was young and reckless and tossed out the schematic for it. Remind me never to do that again…But besides all of that I have a special something waiting for us when we land." He glanced over at her with that boyish grin on his face once more, that same simple smile that would always leave Mirage guessing. She could not help but to return the smile.

* * *

Having landed the Manta jet at last in private air field; the two exited the plane in the close vicinity of a brand new car.

"Aha! There she is!" Buddy jogged to the car while Mirage followed at a more casual pace. Buddy busied himself by inspecting the car making small remarks to himself as he went. When Mirage had caught up with him he stood before the car leaning against the door casually and patting the roof.

"Say 'hello' to your new car."

Mirage's eyes widened. "My car?"

"Sure! You're the one who tracks down the supers for me and you'll be needing a vehicle far more than I will be, so this one," he opened the driver side door for her, "is yours."

"Buddy," Mirage placed a hand over her heart as her eyes ran over the car, "you spoil me!"

Buddy's smile broadened. "Let's give it a spin!" He jogged over to the passenger side and opened the door, pausing with a short exclamation. "Oops, here you go!" He tossed her the keys to the car as well as a pair of new sun-glasses over the top of the car. Mirage stood speechless. Never in her life had she been so spoiled as this. A sudden thought struck her, were these possible tokens of love? Could her employer have an infatuation with her? Why all of these sudden gifts—all new—all now? Mirage fought to keep the impending feelings at bay; all except one of deep gratitude. She slid the shades over her eyes and forced her trembling hand to keep still as she slipped into the driver's seat.

"So I'll give you the directions to my friend's place and you get a feel for the car. If it doesn't suit you I'll have a new one made." He watched her through a pair of his own shades. Mirage smiled at him from the driver's seat and thanked him for his marvelous gifts. He waved a hand and shook his head with a chuckle. "Let's hit the road."

The car drove like a dream. The ride was smooth and the leather interior was more than comfortable. If ever Mirage had to confront a long road trip, she would not have minded it in this car.

Buddy had her stop in front of a rather shabby looking house as he jumped from the seat.

"This shouldn't take too long, I'll be out in just a little bit. Bert's a packrat so he should have the schematic somewhere or other, I'll just borrow it from him and have it sent back through the mail. Wait for me, ok?" Mirage agreed and in truth, his adventure did not take long at all. He was essentially in and out, apparently not much wishing to make up for lost time with his old college companion. He appeared to run out in a hurry as he swung open the car door and skidded in with an angry Bert on the doorstep waving a cane and calling Buddy a "traitor".

"Drive!"

"Trouble with your good friend, Buddy?" Mirage asked teasingly.

"I guess he didn't recognize my genius, Bert always was a little short-sighted."

Buddy gave no more insight to this and Mirage knew better than to ask.

The two made their way to a rather expensive hotel that had been previously booked for their stay. Buddy instructed that Mirage should park so that they could visit a café that he had been dying to visit since he had left the mainland. They left the car at a leisurely walk.

The people they passed by would sometimes stop to stare at the elegant figures in their fine clothes and handsome beauty, for they were the country folk of the region. Mirage had thought it would have been better to have dressed down to avoid unnecessary attention, but Syndrome reckoned that they would still stick out like a couple of sore thumbs; so why not dress to the nines?

Syndrome and Mirage walked side by side along the stretch of sidewalk that had been cleared of the snow. Snow angels littered the ground in the fields beyond and one rambunctious youngster drew out a devil in the snow complete with tail and forked spear. Mirage smiled at the children's unabashed creativity. Syndrome seemed to have noticed it too.

"That's an individual that one is."

Mirage laughed at the idea as a child crashed through the dead shrubbery and landed right before their path, sprawled in the snow. It was a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, her scarf torn and mittens askew. Right before the two adults the poor child began to cry.

"Oh my…" Mirage inhaled in concern and moved forward to aid the little girl as Syndrome glared into the shrubbery as callous laughter issued from somewhere beyond it. He barked at a small boy who stood laughing and pointing at the fallen girl. The boy found having been discovered, his face fell and laughing ceased as he took off into the field. Mirage heard Syndrome mutter "what a little punk" under his breath as he followed the child a ways to make sure that the boy would not come back.

Mirage, meanwhile, looked over the little girl who seemed a little bruised but further over had no real harm done. Mirage knelt down, balancing on her toes as she placed a comforting hand on the little girl's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

The little girl looked up into the older woman's face and her crying immediately ceased. She was a lovely little girl, Mirage had to admit, had only the child been smiling it would have made her heart sore. "There now, you'll be all right."

When nothing seemed to register on the little girl's face except shock, Mirage glanced over to the dead bushes and discovered the remains of what appeared to be a rosebush. She snapped a wrinkled twig from the bush and concentrated on the branch. The girl watched with interest. A moment later, green overtook the brown, engulfing the dead into a living thing as rose petals sprouted and blossomed into an adult rose. The girl looked up at Mirage with wide eyes and mouth agape. Mirage smiled at the flower and offered it to the girl as a peace offering. The girl smiled up at the older woman and sniffled, accepting the rose as she stood. Mirage stood also as the girl adjusted her torn scarf and mittens around herself and gazed up at Mirage with wonder and awe.

"Miss, are you an angel?"

Mirage stood in shock, mouth falling open; uncertain of how to answer such a heartrending question.

"Tanya! Tanya come home!"

The girl was startled out of her amazement and she started forward, running home. She called over her shoulder, "thank you, miss!" as Syndrome came up beside the shocked Mirage. He gave her a confused look, glancing at the girl that was running home then back at Mirage. He jerked a thumb in the girl's direction.

"What was that all about?"

Mirage shook her head, answering truthfully. "I'm…not sure."

Syndrome looked her over but did not press her of information on what had just happened. He instead drummed his fingers on his chin. After some though, he snapped his fingers.

"I know just the place! There's a coffee shop that can do wonder's for the taste buds and we can warm up while we're at it." Syndrome linked arms with Mirage which seemed to physically drag her from her reverie, of which she was grateful. "It's not far," he promised, patting her hand with his free arm.

* * *

They entered the coffee shop together and made their way to an empty booth. They sat opposite one another, neither speaking much until a waitress took their orders. Syndrome ordered a dark roasted coffee and Mirage ordered a tall cappuccino. The silence between them grew as Mirage gazed out into the darkness of the outside while Syndrome seemed content just to study the woman that sat across from him.

Mirage must have betrayed some ill expression because a moment later he commented on it.

"Do you have something on your mind?"

The waitress returned with their mugs of steaming coffee which neither of them touched. Syndrome thanked the waitress while Mirage seemed utterly lost in thought.

Mirage's eyes seemed to study something in the outside intensely before she turned a cool gaze toward him. She slid her arms from the warmth of her brand new coat's arms and placed her palms around the sides of the mugs to warm them. She paused as though choosing her next words carefully.

"It's a lot of things."

Syndrome gave a good look at his watch as if checking to ensure his schedule was all clear. "Well, I've got time."

Mirage locked eyes with him to see an encouraging smile playing around his lips. Mirage dropped her gaze and stared instead into her coffee mug as though it might give her answers to her dilemma. Nothing but steam greeted her forlorn eyes.

"I suppose it all began with my father…"

* * *

_A young girl about the age of twelve tossed her platinum hair to one side with one mitten-covered hand as she dashed through the snow; her scarf muffling much of the cold that blasted her face and caused her eyes to tear, it also served to muffle some of the exhilarated laughs and screams as she evaded her pursuer. The man was fast, but she was faster as she evaded yet another swipe to her torso. She laughed heartily at his attempts, emerald eyes gleaming in the sunshine. The man seemed too tired to continue as he paused hunched over in the snow, resting his hands on his knees and panting hard._

"_Maybe we should take a break?"_

_The twelve-year-old girl shook her head, preparing a snowball in eager hands. "You'll have to catch me first!"_

_He smiled a wry, devilish smile. "So that's how it is, is it?" He sculpted his own scoop of snow into a sphere and tossed it at the blonde-haired girl and missed while he caught a face full of snow. He shook his head animatedly, short brown hair flying. The blonde laughed at her brilliance and then gasped as the man took after her again. He was gaining on her fast. She propelled herself to move faster, for once the game of tag was over her father would surely want to go home. She did not want this to end. She dodged a hard left which he followed, she turned sharply right and still she could not throw him. His shadow grew before her like a reaching shadow-monster and she braced herself for a collision as a moment later she found herself caught and they both tumbled to the ground in a fit of laughter and giggles. When the laughter had ceased, her father stood and brushed himself off, offering a hand to his daughter._

"_Oh Papa. I'm not ready to go!"_

"_Darling, I have to go to work tomorrow and you've worn your old man out!"_

"_Please Papa!" she begged, "Not yet, I want this to last just a little longer!"_

_Her father's soft brown eyes assessed his daughter; she was serious. He knew this could not be easy on her with her mother having passed away only that summer. He secretly wished that this moment would never end either._

"_My little Anya, we will have so many more days to spend together—we'll do something fun together everyday! I promise!"_

"_I know Papa, it's just that…" she sighed as though searching for the right words, "today felt special, I don't ever want to forget today."_

_Anya's father placed a hand on her shoulder, thinking hard. He looked around himself, no one around…He glanced down at the snow and scooped a handful into his palm. He began to work with a studious effort which caught Anya's attention._

"_Then, you will need something special to remember today by." He continued to work, shaping and molding until he was satisfied with what looked like a lollipop made from the snow. Anya gave her father a strange look as if inquiring his means but he continued to concentrate on the object. Ribbons of color burst forth from his palm and the snow smoothed into a form as pure and clean as glass. The lollipop took form into a beautifully shaped rose partially in bloom and tints of green colored the glass stem as well as red for the bud itself. Satisfied with his work and brushing drops of sweat and fatigue from his eyes, he offered it to his daughter. Anya's eyes lit up at such an extraordinary gift. She accepted it with trembling hands, admiring it's near flawless craftsmanship. She looked up at her father, mouth hung open at such a miracle._

"_So you will never forget this day." He murmured softly, cupping her cheek in one hand. "Whatever you believe is in your power to control." _

_He could see that his daughter did not understand his sentiment. "You'll understand someday." He helped her to her feet as they stood once more. "But for now, I believe I am going…to beat you home!" he began to run before even finishing his sentence with Anya crying out after him that he had cheated._

_A month after that fine day of frolic in the snow, that same girl of twelve made her way home from school, fighting the foot and a half of snow, piled high from the roads so that the cars would at least be permitted to drive, it made it all the more difficult for pedestrians to make their way amidst the man-made drift. Somehow Anya managed to pick her way with relatively little stumbling. _

_She always passed her father's building on her way home from school and she would gaze up its heights in wonder of what the adults must be doing in such a structure. Sometimes she felt she could hardly wait to grow up and work like all of the adults did. Her father would weave stories of their world into her head, but she wanted to see it; to_ _experience  
__it for herself. This day however, she paused outside of his building searching the great windows for a maybe glance at her father; for he had said he was one of the lucky employees that got a window cubicle. _

_A hideous wailing noise broke her from her search; it took her a moment to discover that the noise was the wail of the town's siren. People around her screamed and dashed around her in a wild flurry of movement and sound, Anya was knocked to the ground, papers and books flying in all directions and in all of the commotion no one dared stop to help her up. _

_There was a maniacal laughter that filled the air and the panic in the streets seemed to increase two-fold. It was too late, the villain had arrived. He was known only as Suicidal Jack, a maddened man who had attempted to take his own life several times, each inadvertently foiled by one person or another before the police caught him and forced him into prison. He must have managed to escape and was now wrecking havoc on their town for revenge. The deafening sound of gunfire rang out into the air and Anya curled into a tight ball to make herself a smaller target as she covered her head with her arms. Bodies fell around her; she heard them as they collided with the ground. Two fell dead right beside her, the impact shaking her to the morrow of her bones. The gunfire ceased its reign of terror for a moment as the wailing of police sirens accompanied the town siren. Anya risked a glance upward to see the villain glaring up at a flying Super. She smiled softly to herself, he could save them. _

_The villain cursed up at the Super and sprinted into the building—her father's building. Anya gasped._

"_Papa…"_

_Muffled noises went on inside the building and Anya took the chance to stand. Others followed her lead. She gazed in horror at the building, somewhere inside a villain and a Super battled…and her father was in grave danger. There was a resounding boom that shook the ground they stood on outside of the building and the building gave a violent, jarring movement downward. Anya screamed her father's name, rushing forward only to be held back by other on-lookers. Another groan of defeat and the building collapsed straight down upon itself like some demolition had just taken place. The Super flew out of the top of the building, villain in custody as well as many rescued civilians. Anya sprang back into animation._

"_Papa!" she screamed and forced her way amid the throng of people to the Super that floated back down to the ground. Many of the saved seemed uninjured and Anya made her way among them as they were escorted to awaiting ambulances. She looked into every face and none were her father. Fear rose in her throat as she tried vainly to choke back her throbbing heart. She looked to the Super who was being congratulated for such a close save with claps on the back from fellow police officers as well as those who had been saved. _

"_Please sir—" Anya began as she approached the Super but she was rudely pushed back by the pressing crowd that clapped all around her. She could feel her eyes tear as she was pushed farther and farther away, and eventually ended up face-down on the snow-covered pavement away from the crowd. She tore her gaze from the crowd to the broken remains of the building, already sure of the outcome of her father. She threw a glaring, tear-stricken face at the throng._

_Why had he saved all those others and not her father? Was he of no importance to them? He was to become just a statistic; just a number to be counted among the bodies that lay beside her on the ground? Was he to become a distant memory to all of these uncaring fools?_

_Anya felt a rush of wind and snow lift her clothes and hair as she glared into the crowd where the Super stood. A terrible, choking hate seared through her and the winter wind felt like a humid summer breeze. Fury and grief fueled the great anger into a rage until even her eyes seemed to burn with contempt. _

_A scream issued from somewhere within the crowd and Anya stopped the wild ravaging energy that coursed through her body. Her eyes wide with fear as the group separated and tore to reveal the Super lay dead on the ground. She inhaled sharply and leapt to her feet. Somehow, in some way, she knew…she had done this. Her heart hammered in her throat as she saw police officials pointing in her direction. Without a second thought, she took flight; leaping bodies and dodging past those who still lived, running on and on as tears continued to stream down her face._

Mirage paused, stirring her now cool coffee distractedly, keeping her gaze down.

"It turns out that the police only wanted to question me on what I had seen. I had to make up a story and things continued to progress downhill since that day."

She inhaled a shuddering breath.

"I left the town….and was forced to live on my own. The last of my family line had passed with my father." She shut her eyes, "but I managed. I made myself to play the adult role and worked my way into a difficult life at least…until you saved me from the lie." She looked up at him finally since the story had come upon her father's work building. She gave him a weak smile at her last statement. His baby blue eyes were filled with her pain and she could feel her own eyes begin to tear, but she fought to keep her composure. He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I had no idea. I'm…I'm so sorry." It was not the first apology she had heard for her story, even though she rarely told it, but his was special—as though he really meant it. Really, truly, deeply cared for her. She bit her lower lip, her control slipping, Syndrome—no, Buddy—leapt from his seat and whisked her from the shop, out into the cool night air. He kept her hand firmly in his own, fingers laced for comfort and assurance even as he allowed her to shed the pent up tears that had so long been forestalled. After the tears had passed, she felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. On they walked; like she and her father had once done. She could not remember the last time she had felt so contented.

Mirage sighed in content and leaned into the warm, sturdy body beside her. Buddy came around and embraced her tightly. They stood like that for a moment, warm despite the chill of winter, until Mirage broke the embrace to look up into those baby blue eyes that gazed back into her emerald eyes with something she had not seen before. It had to be love. She had been so out of touch with the emotion that she had not noticed it in those subtle glances he would give her and perhaps the not so subtle gifts.

She moved to tip-toe and their lips met again, not since the truly miraculous gift of snow on the island mountainside. A sweet kiss of promise and adoration for one another.

Yes, little Anya had grown with the sense of a cruel world and the losing of her mother and father to such tragedies to compliment that grief, but to be in the arms of one who cared so for her….

Perhaps, thought Mirage, this would be enough.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey! I updated! (At long last, eh?) Whew, this story has been eating at me for weeks now!**

**To be true and honest with myself—I had fully intended to leave this story as a one-shot, but I got the inspiration one night to continue this into something a little further, a little more because the more I watched the _Incredibles_, I still came to wonder about Mirage and was feeling inspired once more to take up my pen and write! **

**How I came up with Anya, and Suicide Jack and the no-name Super? Don't ask because I really have no answers for you! laughs I guess that's my crazy side showing.**

**Ah, yes I know, some of the romance may not be as present as in the first chapter, I really wanted to focus more on Mirage and what shaped her character into what she had become. She seemed fairly unaffected with the luring and eventual slaying of Supers, so I gave a situation (in greater detail than the first chapter) in which to despise Supers and in order to do that I had to create another in depth, emotional attachment that could shatter the image of a Super in her eyes. (Speaking of eyes, AHA! I got Buddy's eye color right this time! (blue blue blue! I'm such a dummy in the first chapter! ))**

**Again for the lack of romance, I apologize and maybe to make it up I will dedicate a third and final chapter to Syndrome and just how he turned to the dark side (so to speak) with some more romance to sugar coat it? Just request it and I'll get right on it! Now that I finally have time. **

**Please Review!**

**Blackfire 18**


	3. The One

**Visions of a Winter Scene**

**Chapter 3: The One**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters there within.**

**(And just as a quick warning…this is PG-13 with good reason because of this chapter. (alcohol, abuse, death…)) Enjoy!**

They walked together side by side, and hand in hand; fingers laced elegantly together in a great expanse of white. Overcoats of the finest make adorned the figures. The man wore a black coat, while the woman wore a new, white fur coat. Even through the warmth of the coat, the woman shivered pleasantly.

"Brrr! I forgot how cold it could be in the snow." Mirage remarked as she pressed closer to her companion. He smoothed back his fiery red hair and laughed.

"I've quite forgotten that myself. Good thing I have someone to share heat with!"

Mirage hummed her agreement. They paused over a ridge to see some of the guards deep in the throws of a snowball fight. Great forts had been built, though they were melting fast. The shelters were still enough to protect an unwary head from an onslaught of snow. One guard caught another off-guard and slammed him with a snowball. He laughed heartily at his prank, only to get a face full of snow from another guard that had appeared beside him.

Mirage chuckled at the game and looked up to see if Syndrome enjoyed the impromptu entertainment as well. Her smile fell away when she discovered a sorrowful expression on his face.

"Buddy…?" she ventured softly, but he only shook his head and smiled; drawing her closer to link arms with her at the elbow and hold her hand in his free hand. She did not protest when he led her away from the fun and games in the melting snow.

They walked on in silence for a time before Mirage, feeling so in her element, prompted him gently.

"Do you remember how we met?"

Buddy smiled, "How could I not?"

* * *

It had only been Buddy's third time to a bar, but he deemed that he rather liked this joint in particular, (though this was the only bar he had visited)—it made me feel older somehow. He did not much like alcohol because it reminded him of a past he longed to forget, but he would dabble in it once or twice every other week or so, and at very light rates. 

He seated himself at one of the stools by the bar a few chairs away from anyone else and he ordered a drink from the bartender. Buddy was still partial to hot chocolate on a cold February day, but he would rather not have been laughed out of the bar. Having his order pending, Buddy took a look at his surroundings to find he was seated a good three seats from a slim, smartly dressed, stunning platinum blonde. He could not see her face, but she must have been gorgeous because a crowd of men surrounded her like a pack of slobbering dogs. He noticed that at least five drinks were set on the bar table beside her and she had not touched any of them. The blonde said something and the crowd of men laughed along with her. Buddy rolled his eyes at the mindless throng, but found he could not stray his eyes away from the slender legs, or fine, glossy hair of the lady.

Suddenly things started to become rough.

"C'mon dame, I've got myself a nice little place we could stay the night."

"I got a hotel room not far from here."

"It is rather chilly outside; why not walk home in the warm arms of a man, eh?"

The lady politely turned down the offers and the rejection obviously ruffled some feathers as the verbal disagreement resulted in a physical harassment. One man snatched at her wrist as another gripped her shoulder and a third grabbed her arm.

Acting quickly, Buddy pulled out a little machine from a coat pocket, fiddled with it for a moment, and rolled it down the length of the table. It came to a skidding stop just before the crowd, directly between the drinks that were so obviously intended for the lady. The men stopped their rough play to take a look at the circular object that shook and trembled. Little mechanical legs slipped out from opened portholes and it scurried forward on its legs. Another item slid forward from a cavity and what suspiciously looked like a cattle prod sparked to life. The machine jumped for the closest man and assaulted him with an audible zap and the smell of burned skin soon filled the air.

"What the devil?" one man cried in outburst, as he was pinched by the robot and he shied away.

"What sort of toy is this?" another man asked as he was shocked.

"Forget this!"

"Who needs a broad who's so much trouble, anyway?"

"I'm outta here."

The blonde huffed angrily at them as they retreated and straightened her clothing and smoothed back her hair. She looked back to reprimand her rescuer, ready to claim she had had everything under control, but when she saw him she paused in her barrage.

Buddy's breath caught in his throat.

The woman was breathtakingly beautiful. Her emerald eyes glanced over him in cautious curiosity and he did likewise with her, albeit a little less reservedly. They seemed to just gaze at one another for eternity before Buddy's machine gave a little beep of reminder to its master that it had completed its task.

Startled from the reverie, Buddy moved forward from his seat to take a vacant seat to the far side of the lady. He passed behind her for a moment and felt a burst of familiarity; a look into future events to come. This felt right.

He slid into the seat on her left. She smiled warmly at him, those striking emerald eyes watching his every move in interest.

"Interesting device," she spoke languidly, her voice lacy and low, it melted into him and filled him with a burning desire. It was no wonder now why men turned into clumsy apes around beautiful women.

When he did not respond to her, she lifted a teasing eyebrow, and coupled with that lingering smile, she was simply irresistible.

"Oh, oh yes." He stuttered numbly. "I…I built it myself."

She nodded slowly as she glanced over the device in his hands.

"Impressive. Had your invention been on the shelves, I may have purchased one. Now where would someone like you have come up with such an ingenious little apparatus?" she asked sweetly and Buddy replied with a short shake of his head to clear his thoughts into a steady train, and tapped his forehead.

"It's all up here. I'm an inventor by trade. I started since I was very young and they just seem to continue to improve down the line. This little one here," he tossed the ball into the air and caught it again; the lady did not stray her eyes from his, "I invented especially for ruffians who are a bother to a lady."

Her smile widened.

"Fascinating." She murmured, though more to herself than to him. They stared at one another for another moment, but Buddy lost his nerve and looked at last to the bartender who was conveniently wiping down the bar before them and looking suspiciously like he had eavesdropped their entire conversation.

"Could I offer you a drink?" Buddy asked, his voice faltering as though the reality of his situation was catching up with him. He was talking to a beautiful woman who had not yet brushed him off, in a bar, after having chased away a round of devious, underhanded men. They were probably just waiting to ambush him once he left the bar.

The blonde looked to the five drinks set before her and wrinkled her nose ever so slightly.

"I'm afraid that I would prefer not to leave entirely intoxicated, although you may help yourself to one of my drinks." She motioned to them casually; the intonation of her voice suggesting that she intended to have none of it.

"No thanks, I don't really drink." Buddy bit his tongue right after he said it; he knew he had made a big mistake when her eyebrows rose.

"Really?" she turned to face him fully, her body poised delicately over the bar table. Buddy noted it numbly and swallowed hard. "Then what brings an inventor of your caliber to peruse the bar?"

"I-I might ask the same of you, what business would a lady have in a bar?"

The woman smiled at him mysteriously, turning her eyes from him to gaze wistfully elsewhere.

"A delusion of the truth," she spoke softly, fondling the neck of one of her many drinks. She explained no further, and Buddy did not press her.

"Well, if you didn't have any plans…" he shifted in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck; had the room suddenly become very warm? "Maybe you and I could talk over dinner?" He smiled at her hesitantly with imploring baby blue eyes. Her striking emerald eyes studied him for a moment, but she finally smiled and agreed and they decided a place and time to meet that same night.

* * *

Over a decidedly expensive dinner at a high class restaurant, they spent many hours together and Buddy discovered that the woman had a grand aptitude for management and negotiations. He let her into his confidence. He needed assistance on Nomanisan and she may just be the perfect aid he had been searching for. She exceeded all of the criteria that he had placed, and more, he thought, looking over that slim body once more.

Buddy was set to ask her to join him in his affairs, but something held him back. Caught up in all of his plans, he had plumb forgotten to ask her name.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I quite caught your name?"

"You didn't because I never gave it to you…" she replied flippantly and sipped at her wine. Buddy was not fazed.

"What might I call you by then, miss?"

She smiled over the mouth of her wineglass.

"Mirage."

What she had said earlier at the pub returned to him like a punch in the stomach. He spluttered on his drink and her eyes turned up into his though she did not remove her wine glass from her lips.

_A delusion of the truth_.

What was she playing at?

"Something the matter?" she asked casually, gently placing the glass down and folding her hands into her lap.

"No, no. Of course not." He coughed and dabbed at a bit of liquid that had dribbled out of his mouth from his outburst. Apparently thinking that she had been scoffed at, her brows titled into a frown and her body was positioned in such a way that screamed distaste. The current situation had just taken a dangerous turn for the worst. He would have to ask her now then, or never.

"Let me ask you something, Mirage." He stared her in the eyes and leaned forward over the table. "What do you think of Supers?"

She gazed at him as though wondering if this were some sort of trick question, though even for all of her subtlety, she could not stop a delicate slant of her eyebrows that could be mistaken as nothing but abhorrence.

"I don't care much for them." She said dismissively. Buddy could have jumped up form his seat and kissed her.

He laughed happily. "Then do I have an ideal opportunity for you, Ms. Mirage…"

* * *

They chuckled together at the memory. 

"That seemed so long ago," Mirage commented with wistfully.

"Yes, but happy times as well." Syndrome wrapped an arm about her waist, pressing her body to his and kissing her fully on the lips. When they parted, Mirage smiled up at him.

"What was that for?"

"For being here with me, now."

He could not describe to her exactly how happy she made him feel. He felt fulfilled, complete, contented; he felt more at ease with her now than he had felt when he was a lonely boy, for all of his life.

She had healed him in many ways, though she knew nothing of how she had mended him.

They stood together in silence for a moment, enjoying one another's company, watching snow trickle down into building waterfalls down the mountainside.

"Tell me again about this one that began it all."

Buddy glanced at her unsurely and cleared his throat, releasing her from his hold and moving away. Suddenly aware, Mirage moved to follow him and placed a tender hand on his arm.

"It is a story that I like to keep buried."

Mirage gazed up at him sadly. "What has caused you such discomfort in your past that you wish not even to speak of it?"

"My past was not a happy time…"

She gently held onto his arm, whispering softly.

"Tell me."

He looked to her in uncertainty, wondering if he dared to escape that soft hold, or those tender emerald eyes. He sighed, realizing there would be no escaping this, and began his story.

"It all began with one Super."

* * *

His father was yelling at his mother again, and he knew well enough to stay well away from the confrontations—but what did it matter—much of the tribulations were over him. 

His latest reason for being at fault was being sent home by escort of the police for becoming an intended hostage and disrupting a Super at work. Still dressed in his _Incrediboy_ outfit and surrounded by his many idolized items, Buddy uncomfortably swung his legs on the edge of his bed as he listened to the verbal battle downstairs.

"What is your problem that you can't even watch the boy for a few measly hours?" This was his father.

"I am caught up with enough work to do as it is." His mother shot back. "I can't keep tags on what goes on every minute in this house!"

"He's still an immature little prick! He goes around in that spandex suit and expects not to be ridiculed at school."

"He's only bullied because of his genius with inventions, even the teachers are impressed by his toys."

Buddy bit his tongue. His inventions were not just toys, they were works of art; labors of love. Could his parents not see that?

"That's all they are—toys! The boy is twelve—he needs to grow up! Otherwise he'll end up a street bum or get himself killed like he almost did today!"

"I've tried to reason with him, but you know how he loves that Super."

"Condemn all of the supers to hell! Just last week, one of those freaks destroyed the wall to our main building and its set us back a month's worth in finances!"

"Shh, Buddy will hear you."

"Let him hear! That boy needs to come to grips with reality, it's a cold, cruel world out there and he'd better shape up or get lost; even if I have to beat it into him."

"You won't lay a hand on him! If Buddy is suffering relapses, it is surely due to your poor method of fathering him."

"Silence, woman!"

There was a cry from Buddy's mother. His father must have struck her again.

Then all in the house was silent. Buddy's heart was racing and it was difficult for him to swallow. He was nothing but a nuisance to his family.

He slowly, remorsefully, took the blue mask from his eyes and gazed down at it sadly.

He had only wanted to help; he had only wanted to please someone, to have someone happy with him; to give him some sort of meaning for existing. And where his family denied him of this luxury, he thought his favorite Super hero would have appreciated him for his brilliance. But no, everyone thought him only as an annoyance.

In a fit of anger, Buddy hurled the mask from himself and it connected with the door with a dissatisfying thud. He kicked off from his bed and moved to stand before his most acclaimed portrait of Mr. Incredible in his shrine. Buddy glared at the image; once again hearing the Super's words to him that day.

"Go home Buddy, I work alone."

Choking on his rage, he ripped the mantle piece from its resting place and it clattered to the floor with a smashing sound. His anger still not appeased, he broke the glass of the frame and took the image from the glass, cutting his fingers in the process. This only incensed the boy more. He tore the image to pieces, the blood from his fingers staining the pieces that fell. Once the image was destroyed Buddy continued to ransack the rest of the merchandise that represented his once favorite Super. Anything and everything that affiliated the Super was ripped to shreds and rent askew; toys flew through the window, shattering the glass, dressers and desk fell to the ground, books scattering helplessly about, and papers flying.

Finally the anger was purged at last and he now stood in the center of his destroyed room, heaving and spilling tears of anger and remorse, though he barely felt them course down his cheeks. Sorrowful of his actions in a sense that he was to be in grave trouble once his parents discovered the mess, he hastily rubbed the tears from his face.

As if answering his thoughts, his father stormed into the room after hearing the awful din from downstairs. With a thunderous clap, the door was flung open and his father looked about the room with wide eyes.

"What is God's name…" he began as he saw the destroyed room. His shocked eyes were swiftly filled with anger. "YOU!" he bellowed and in two strides, crossed the room and backhanded Buddy. The child fell to the ground, nursing his stinging cheek in one hand. "You're as bad as those Supers!"

His mother was at the doorway in a flash, her hands over her mouth and eyes wide. She rushed forward, but as she passed her husband, he snatched her arm and brutally hurled her back out the door, slamming it and locking it shut behind her.

"No! Herb, you leave him alone! Don't you touch him!"

Buddy's mother cried, pounding on Buddy's door, but it was to no avail. Buddy looked up at his father in wide-eyed fear; he slid back, but could not get much purchase as he slipped on books and papers and sharp glass.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson boy," his father growled in a low voice full of detesting resonance. As he moved forward, Buddy cowered back, mumbling apologies and holding up his arms in defense, but it would do him little good in comparison to his father's strength.

The pummeling came hard and fast, each blow more worse than the first. His lip split and bled, other wounds opening on his body, and bruises rising from the assault.

Beyond the door, his mother cried for her husband to stop—a cry of pure torture and anguish as only a mother could voice when she cannot reach her child who is in dire need of her aid.

When all was done and Buddy lay broken and bleeding on the floor, fading in and out of consciousness, amidst the mess scattered around him, did his father finally leave. He ripped the door open and his wife fought to get past him to her only son, but he savagely twisted her arm behind her back and propelled her forward, away from the destroyed room—her cries echoing down the hall; reverberating forever in Buddy's semiconscious mind.

Later that night, Buddy picked up his room as best he could, not having suffered anything too serious from the abuse, though his limbs were sore and screamed in protest at his every move. He morosely made his way downstairs to apologize and seek some form of forgiveness, some form of worth that his family still accepted him, but he halted sharply on the stairs as he caught sight of his mother through a window to the kitchen. She was holding a phone to her and speaking quickly and quietly.

Suddenly Buddy's father appeared and he asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, bordering on a slur. He was obviously drunk.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?"

He snatched the phone from her hands and ripped the cord from the jack. The action nearly sent him falling, but he righted himself and made his way over to his wife. "Calling for the police, dear? Is there a problem you have with me?" he backed her against the far wall, so Buddy still had a full view of what was going on. The boy was too panicked to know what to do as he watched the terrible events unfold.

"What you have committed tonight was heinous and I am going to do what I should have done ages ago—I am reporting you to the authorities!"

Buddy's breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered in his chest so loudly he was afraid his father might hear, as that same father rung his hands around his mother's neck.

"You'll do no such thing, sweetheart."

He crushed her windpipe and even though she clawed at his hand, he only gripped harder. Buddy wanted at once to attack his father; to tear him to shreds, but the consequences proved to be just as perilous. He had but a moment to decide and steeling himself for what may come, Buddy rushed down the stairs to aid his mother in the fight. As his feet slammed down on the carpeted floor at the base of the stairs, he turned sharply right to the doorway of the kitchen, something heavy connected with the floor.

He was too late.

His mother lay unmoving on the ground.

His drunken father swayed on his feet and staggered forward, cradling his head as though he had had an axe driven through his skull. Buddy stared at the unmoving body of his mother on the ground, tears burning in his eyes.

"Dammit, May…" he groaned, obviously not clearly having wanted to go quite that far with his wife, he staggered and slipped, turning to see that Buddy stood in the doorway. His face screwed up in sheer hate.

"YOU!" he bellowed and struggled to his feet. "I'll kill you boy! I'll _kill you_!"

Buddy turned and fled, heart thundering in his chest as his feet slapped against pavement outside and he tore from his shambled home. He didn't care where he went, he knew by instinct he had to escape. Behind him he thought he could hear his father's pursuit and this only caused him to run faster. Bushes and branches like ripping claws caught at him and tore into his flesh, but he did not care, he was running a mile a minute; He was escaping hell.

He leaped out into a roadway, directly into the blinding lights of a car. The wheels screamed and the lights grew brighter. He was going to die. He covered his eyes and felt the vehicle crash into his body. He was dead, he knew it, he was dead!

No, wait…he was still breathing, though he could not move. Someone stood over him and his panic returned to him double fold. His father had caught up with him!

Buddy scrambled to get away, but hands held him back.

"Buddy, Buddy, my God, are you all right? What's wrong my boy?"

He looked up wild-eyed to find his aunt June looking him over with worried eyes. It must have been her that had been driving the car. She gasped suddenly.

"Was it Herb? Did he do this to you? I told my sister he was a felon…But here let's get you to my house, come, quickly!"

She half-carried him into her car and strapped him in, he was still breathing quick breathes and did not speak, though he glanced about him in every which way as though his father would jump out at him and strangle him in the darkness. Of course this did not happen and his aunt took rather good care of him that night. She nursed him back to his strength but the horror of the past events kept Buddy in a sad, isolated world of silence.

His aunt was a sweet lady, but she really had no time for children, she worked all day and pulled a second job for part of the night. Buddy made himself helpful with most of the housework and the rest of the time he was mostly by himself; creating new inventions out of money he earned himself from simple inventions he would sell. He was a mute for a full year after the incident and did not speak to his aunt of the crisis until he was a Freshmen in High School, when he finally discovered that his father had committed suicide that same night when he had strangled his mother. His aunt played the role that his mother was unable to participate in because of his overbearing father. He came to adore his aunt and promised that no harm should come of her, since he had failed to save his mother.

He did not make many friends and was often by himself, always thinking, always devising new plans to his old schematics. One particular invention landed him a scholarship for college which he gratefully accepted. He lovingly thanked his aunt for all of her hospitality which she merely shooed away. It was the least she could do for him and for her sister. She kissed his cheek and wished him the best of luck at the university.

Buddy made himself at home there, finally taking tentative steps out of the shell he had imposed on himself to hit a bar for a drink or two…

Buddy finished with an uplifting sigh, still shuddering at the cold memories. He turned then to see Mirage with tears streaming down her face.

"Buddy. I…I had no idea…" she stammered, embarrassedly brushing tears from her face lest they froze on her cheeks.

He shook his head and chuckled softly.

"Hey, it's all over with now; it was all in the past. I'm much better now that you are here with me. Had I known it would have put you in such distress, I would not have told you. They say a burden shared is a burdened halved, but I prefer to carry my own burden for that very reason…"

"No, I asked it of you, so I will also shoulder this burden."

Buddy brushed his knuckles against the blonde's cheek tenderly, drying her face of its tears. She gazed up at him sorrowfully, lips trembling as she quaked in his arms. She pressed herself to him then, burying her face into his chest, and holding to him tightly as though he might fall apart in her arms at any moment. Syndrome embraced the woman back, quite at a loss for words. He smiled to himself softly.

_I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. I don't want her to pity me; I only want her to continue as my partner and my companion in this project. My past is my past; there is nothing to change that. But...since she is here in this proximity…_

Buddy gently pushed her from his embrace, tilting her chin up and tenderly placed a kiss on her lips. The faint ghost of a smile played across her lips at this action when he drew away, and Buddy linked arms with her once more. She pressed to him for reassurance and warmth, even as the mountainside shuddered its weight of snow into an avalanche that settled to melt at last in the valley below them.

"Come on, let's go home."

* * *

**A/N: OMIGAWD! That only took me eons to do! I'm sure you all are quite sick of my excuses, but I will say, once again: writer's block and time conflict! (Gah, I despise them both with a vengeance).**

**I'm sure you all are quite sick of my apologies as well—but please forgive me for how late this chapter is (did I set a date on it?), but I would like to point out how long it was! I had a LOT to say…**

**Wow, Buddy had a harsh childhood, eh? I suppose I did get somewhat carried away with that whole schpeel of Buddy's mother and father…I didn't mean to be quite that cruel, but in the movie he really did seem to be a scarred child in an adult body. The idea hit me that he might be afraid to grow up and be like his father, so I worked it into my story (writer's block area #12…LOL!)**

**As far as a fourth chapter goes, I had a vague idea, but lost track of it when I suddenly became obsessed over Kim Possible…(I love the sarcastic, biting-tongue of Shego! She cracks me up!) I must have sparked a good four idea's worth for that series a few weeks ago, and so the Incredibles will be taking a backseat for awhile; err, at least until I can get my thoughts in order again.**

**So consider this story finished until then!**

**I hope everyone enjoyed it and if I can come back to this one, you all will read it again!**

**Please review! **

**Blackfire 18**


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